Title: From Tiny Acorns...
Pairing: Rodney McKay/John Sheppard
Fandom: Stargate Atlantis
Challenge: #3 Passion
Feedback/Concrit: darkhavens @ slashverse.com
Disclaimer: Not mine, never will be. No harm, no foul, no money made.
Summary: They both have very different passions.
Notes: Written for stagesoflove Challenge #3 - 'Passion'.
Part one, 'Attraction', can be found here and part two, 'Romance', can be found here
Also posted here
Rodney's passion is for knowledge and discovery. The more he knows, the more he needs to know - it's an addiction.
An answer never truly satisfies him when he can see the questions piling up behind it. Why? What? Where? When? What can I do with it? How will it react if I do this?
He can't stand back and let the others do the work, he has to be there, elbows-deep, hands-on and in the midst of it.
He's like that in bed too, hungering for knowledge and discovery, with grabby hands.
A trailing finger at the back of one knee sends John into convulsions of giggles. Rodney makes a mental note in bright green and moves on to the next patch of skin.
The application of the slightest bit of pressure to John's throat makes him twitch to get away. That mental note is underlined in red, with an addendum to reread John's sealed records.
Rodney throws his whole body into what he does, hands and lips and teeth - John's skin's elastic in the bestest ways - and ears and eyes that catalogue every sound and movement.
Within a month, he knows John's body, in and out, can read him in one glance across a room. John's not entirely sure that he's okay with that but the cold alternative fills him with gloom.
He'll adapt, that's what he does. Rodney's passion is worth it.
John's passions encompass flying and math, and he thinks he loves the math because it lets him do the flying thing.
He loves the angles, the vectors, the streamlined planes, the speed, the rush, the vastness of it all.
The day he stepped inside that first puddlejumper was the day he knew he'd found the lost extension of his soul.
He didn't realise until later that what he'd really found was Rodney.
John sits in briefings sometimes and doodles Rodney-math. He calculates the angle of the slope of Rodney's mouth and what would happen if a gentle, teasing pressure was applied. He maps the curve of Rodney's ass beneath his uniform, the gently rolling hill of Rodney's belly.
Rodney-math will take him years to figure out - the sum of parts does not equal the whole, not even close. The planes and angles come together, move apart. They shift like plate tectonics under Rodney's liquid surface, showing fragments of the most obscure equations.
One day, he thinks, he'll figure it out - plot Rodney on a nine dimensional graph for all to see. But then he knows he won't, because if they could see, they'd want to learn to fly the way he does when he's with Rodney.